


Follow Me From Darkness

by Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)



Series: You're Not in This Alone [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Din is a good dad, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Paz is rocking the big brother thing, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26797858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing
Summary: Din and Paz go shopping.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Paz Vizsla
Series: You're Not in This Alone [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867132
Comments: 31
Kudos: 309





	Follow Me From Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. This thing... oof. Not one of my most confident postings. I'm not content with how it turned out, but if I work on it any longer, I'm going to start losing my writing friends. I sincerely hope you like it.

Donning a pair of oven mitts, Lant Zeprad bent over in front of his oven and pulled out a pan of roasted shaak. Standing up with the pan, he used his knee to close the oven door and set it on the stovetop. Mouth watering at the aroma of the roasted meat and herbs, Lant dug out the meat thermometer from the drawer and probed the shaak at its thickest point. His mouth drooped downward into a frown.

“At least ten more degrees to go. Damn.”

If Cara were there, she would have said: _Just run it through a flame real quick and dig in._ Personally, Lant preferred to keep his adrenaline rushes limited to his work environment at the med center and not playing Tatooine Roulette with foodborne illnesses.

“Back in you go...” Lant sighed, pulling open the oven door again. Shoving the pan back into the dry heat, he tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach.

It wasn’t often that he cooked for himself, but he had the day off and the craving for roast shaak with potatoes and space carrots had been nagging the back of his mind for weeks. There was something about when the seasons changed, and the cooler weather of Autumn rolled in that took him back to his favorite days as a kid.

When the breeze that blew over Nevarro turned chilly, his yearly hankering for one of his mom’s best meals started to poke at him until he caved and committed to the day-long event. Between the shopping, the prepping, the assembling, and the cooking, he was going on a five-hour endeavor to have this one meal. Hell, it seemed like an overly tedious event to work through just to have maybe ten minutes of satisfaction while he ate.

Looking under the hand towel, then behind a bag of chips on the counter, Lant reached for the timer. Holding it in his hand, he looked out the window in his living room. Only three in the afternoon and it was already dark out, thanks to the storm clouds that had rolled in sometime last night. The day had been a cold drizzly mess and he didn’t have anything better to do than to sit around and smell the goodness of a meal he’d put together with his own two hands.

Plus, he’d have leftovers, enough to make cold shaak sandwiches for his work lunch for the rest of the damn week, and Lant changed his mind. The ends more than justified the means. Looking at the timer, he started to consider cooking more often.

A trilling from the living room drew his attention, luring him into the other room. Glancing at the bracer lying on the table beside the couch, his brow drew together a little as Paz’s ID flashed in thin white letters against the small, blue screen. Reaching for the comm, he prayed to Maker that this wasn’t another emergency regarding the most stubborn bounty hunter in the parsec.

Sticking the device in his ear, Lant held the timer in his other hand as he answered the call. “Paz?”

“Apologies for bothering you so soon.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“We’ve been gone just over forty-eight hours, and already I’m calling with a question.”

“The fact that you are makes me feel okay about discharging Din sooner than I had planned. Questions are good, Paz. What’s up?”

There was a grunt, then what sounded like the creaking protest of a seat as the giant Mandalorian in blue armor said, “We’re headed to Dantooine.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Lant gave him a verbal nudge. “Okay...”

Paz cleared his throat, “There is a decent-sized market there I know about, but nothing too extensive—just big enough to pick up some essentials...” his deep voice trailed off. When he came back over the line, he cut to the chase. “I have a crap-ton of shopping to do.”

“I see. Hardly surprising considering the talk I had with Din while he was here. Go on.”

More of that strained creaking carried over the line, then, “Din thinks he’s going to be good enough to walk around the market. I disagree. But, he insisted, and I have...concerns. I wanted to reach out to you and get your opinion before we do this.”

Sinking back into the cushions on his couch, Lant tossed the timer and then caught it, “I think it’s a good idea.”

There was a beat of silence. “You do.”

Disbelief colored the Mandalorian’s statement, and Lant nodded to the empty room, “I do. The exercise will do him good. Getting out and walking around would be good for him as long as he doesn’t overdo it.”

“Okay, but,” another creak. “He can barely make it up the ship’s ladder on his own, and I wonder if walking around a market would be too much for him.”

Lant tossed the timer at the ceiling and caught it, “Anticipate much ladder climbing at this market, do you?”

“… No.”

“If he needs to, are you comfortable with allowing Din to use you for stability as he walks?”

A sound suspiciously similar to a huff passed over the line. “Of course.”

Lant’s lips curved upward at the tone of annoyance that colored Paz’s response. It was like he’d insulted the man by merely asking the question. Hell, maybe he had. Knowing the bits and pieces of the Mandalorian culture that he did and gauging the way the hulking warrior in blue armor had shadowed Din during his time back under Lant’s care, maybe he had indeed.

Making a mental note to himself, Lant told Paz, “Okay, then I think Din can handle getting out for a bit. Will he pay for it later? Yes, probably so. However, Din’s injury, Paz, it’s not like recovering from a broken limb. Remember what I told you, this will be a steady game of two steps forward, one step back. He needs to get out of the ship when he can. The exercise is important for both his body _and_ his mind. Keep him closed up in there long enough, and you’re going to be tempting anxiety and depression to creep in and set up shop.”

Paz hummed at that. “This... one step back, you mentioned. It’s inevitable?”

“Thanks to the setback Din’s dealing with, yes.” Lant shifted on the couch. “Look,” he raised a hand, gesturing at nothing as he explained. “It’s like training for a new sport or going on a longer run than your body is used to. Working the muscles past their comfort zone, it can hurt, right? It hurts for a while, but the more you do it, the stronger you get, and then you don’t have to deal with the pain again until you try to reach that next level. Din’s recovery is going to be a lot like that. The exercise will be beneficial for him but plan for a brief struggle with the aftermath.”

“What should I expect with this aftermath?”

Setting the timer on the side table, Lant blew out a breath, “That’s like putting a platter of cheese in front of a mouse and asking which one he’ll go choose. It can depend on so many factors—Ah, well, okay, I can tell you what might pop up. For starters, lower back pain. Din’s still struggling with bending, so expect that to be worse for a day or so. He could also deal with weakness or an electric-like sensation that zips down his legs. With the head wound aggravated, vertigo is a safe bet; a migraine might pop up...”

“It hardly seems worth it for him to go.”

“It’s a mixed bag of potentially shitty effects, yes. However, the good Din can get from a trip through the outdoor market will outweigh the bad and help keep him on the path to recovery.”

Paz sighed, and Lant reiterated, “Like working a new muscle group, you have pain afterward, but if you don’t quit, you build strength. The same goes for Din. He needs to push through the pain to get to the strength he’s working to regain. Take him with you to the market, let him lean on you if he needs to, let him sit for a while if he needs it, and head back when he gets tired. It’s going to be good for him. The more he gets out, the stronger he’ll get, and these side effects will begin to diminish.”

Another sigh, “Yeah, okay.”

“You’ve registered for a marathon, Paz, not a sprint. It’s going to take time, but Din will get there. From what I can tell so far, you’re doing everything right. With your help, he’ll get there faster as he would out there on his own. You’re doing a good thing for him and the baby—a great service. Don’t forget that.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Hey, do me a favor?”

“What’s that.”

“Get back in touch with me when you have a free moment; let me know how it went?”

“I will.”

“Awesome. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Okay, Paz. Take care, and as I said before, call if you need anything. I don’t keep regular business hours. Call anytime.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Ending the call, Lant pulled his comm, tossing it back onto the coffee table. The rain pounded the small window in his living room as he stared at the muted game of Shockball on his holonet device. Sitting there on the couch, he wasn’t watching the brutal tackle that left the other guy sprawled on the ground spread eagle as his opponent stole the ball and scored.

His thoughts were far away as he thought about his patient’s last imaging result and the projected recovery details it had laid out. He started wondering if he’d been a little too lenient with his opinion of Din walking around a market. Hell, he hadn’t even asked Paz for the specifics on just how big the damn thing actually was.

Grabbing his datapad from the cushion beside him, Lant started to look up this market on Dantooine just to make sure he didn’t need to call Paz back with an amended plan of attack. From the information he pulled up, there were two major markets Lant figured they might visit. Only one of them gave a rough estimate of its size. Still, from the array of images scattered around the text listing the items offered, operating times, and information on how to become a vendor, Lant felt pretty good about what he told Paz.

Basically, his advice of offering support if needed and heading back when Din got tired, it would apply to almost anything they did, regardless of venue size. Everything would be fine. 

Feeling better, Lant tossed down the datapad and moved to unmute the game when the acrid smell of something burning hit his senses. Grabbing the timer, his gaze shot down at it.

The display read: 00:00.

“No.” Launching himself off the couch, Lant rant into the kitchen and yanked open the oven door. A cloud of white smoke billowed out at him. _“No, no, no, no...”_ groaned the neuromedic as he shoved his hands into oven mitts.

Reaching into the hot box, he hauled out the baking dish, coughing as he tossed it straight into the sink. Throwing on the tap, he doused it in water before his entire complex could get evacuated due to the smoldering remains of his meal.

A hazy layer of smoke spilled throughout his flat, and he threw open the window over the sink, coughing as he waved it away with the oven mitts. The smoke sensor finicky enough to scream at him when he boiled water didn’t go off. It was a damn miracle. Or was it? Leveling a stare at the device high on the wall, Lant decided he should get the super to check that thing out.

Once the smoke cleared enough to get a good view at the meat, Lant stood there, staring at a lump of shaak charcoal in his sink.

Five damn hours of work ruined.

This was why he doesn’t cook.

Although... reaching for the roast, he hissed as he singed his fingertips on the charred hunk and slung it onto the counter. Rolling a few times, it left a greasy trail of black juices in its wake before coming to rest against the side of his nanowave. Grabbing a fork and his pocket knife, Lant flicked open the blade and sliced straight through the middle of the roast. Carving out a chunk, he popped it into his mouth. 

The flavor of the meat flooded his taste buds, and Lant slammed his fist against the countertop as his eyes closed over a low moan. Overcooked and a bit too dry, the roast shaak was still a blissful treat.

He pulled a plate from the cabinet, transferred the wet roast onto it, and started carving away at the overly burnt parts. The vegetables were a complete waste, being the shriveled up little nuggets of ash that they were. But the meat... he could fucking live off this meat—grossly overcooked or not.

* * *

Standing near the small table in the galley, Din was attaching his backplate as Paz landed the _Crest_ on Dantooine. Gripping the edge of the table, the Mandalorian shot a glare toward the upper deck at the rough landing. Next thing on the agenda: Teach Paz how to make a landing that didn’t jostle the entire ship.

Going for the breastplate lying face-down on the table, Din found his kid sitting in the damn thing. Gripping the edges, the baby rocked the slightly curved outer part back and forth against the tabletop.

“Hey. I need that,” Din told him as he moved carefully, reaching for his _ad._

Little green claws closed around his index fingers. Holding his hands, Din told him, “Come on, get up.” He waited for the baby to stand up, then tugged at him, urging him out. The armor wobbled under his weight as he stepped out of it, and the child gave a little squeal as he jumped onto the table.

Din was closing the last of the catches, securing the final piece to his body as Paz’s boots hit the lower deck. Walking over from the ladder, the Mandalorian in blue gave him a once over, and Din pointed at him, “I don’t want to hear it. I am not going out there feeling half-naked.”

Raising his gloved palms in mock surrender, Paz replied, “Hey, I didn’t say a word.”

Din watched as he passed, picking up his rucksack. He knew the opinion that formed in Paz’s mind upon seeing him wearing the beskar. Din couldn’t entirely fault him for it either. The weight of it didn’t play well with the weakness he’d been dealing with since the attack. In fact, the last time he wore it was when he’d been walking over the dry, dusty earth of Jakku, minding his own damn business before a group of assholes found him and provoked a fight.

Today, walking around in public without it, that just wasn’t going to happen. To compensate, Din had decided to forego adding his cloak and the pulse rifle to his getup. Neglecting to include those two items, it already felt wrong. Without their comforting weight over his shoulders, the annoying thought that he’d forgotten something important was sure to nag him all day.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, let me just...” Din opened a hidden panel and pulled out a small leather pouch. Tugging it open, he looked at the payday he had gotten from Ran. With everything that happened over the last few months, and how Greef had finagled the guild’s finances to pay off his medical fees by working it into about twelve different kinds of write-offs, Din hadn’t had much reason to touch the credits. One look at Paz’s list, and he’d known the time had come to dip into his stash.

Paz looked over his shoulder, “You know, I have my own credits.”

Din turned to face him. “Okay…”

“I’m just saying, what I’m planning on picking up, it’s going to cost a chunk. I don’t want you to think I expected you to cover it.”

“Well, it’s for all of us, right?”

“Mostly, yes.”

Pulling the strings cinched the pouch shut, and Din tucked it into a compartment of his belt. “I just figured we’d split it.”

Paz nodded, picking up his kid. “That’ll work.” The baby reached for him, and Paz told him, “No, _ad’ika._ You keep me company today while we’re in the market.”

He hated to see the look of rejection settle over his kid’s face. Paz had a point, though. If Din was going to make it through today, he would need to be smart about it. Wearing his armor was already pushing it and the kid would easily add another ten pounds to the weight he expected his legs to carry around. As much as he hated it, he was going to have to let Paz hold the baby.

The kid pushed off Paz’s chest, reaching further for him, and Din rubbed under his chin, “Paz is right.” His little green face turned down into a pout, and Din rubbed behind his head, “Help me out and let him hold you for now. Okay?”

Din still wasn’t completely sure how much he understood, but he seemed to catch the gist of what he asked because then he was sinking into the crook of Paz’s arm with a huff. The ramp to the ship started lowering, and they walked out into the bright Dantooine sun.

Stepping out of the ship, Din turned his back on the brightness and adjusted a setting on his vambrace. The cloudless blue sky would usually have been easy on the eyes—a pleasure to see. Today, however, still struggling with the head injury from being blown up, it had Din dialing up the photon filter in his visor.

Photosensitivity was something he dealt with almost daily. It never truly resolved in the months since the Battle on Nevarro. Performing a vertical full-body smack into the side of the stone wall last week had caused the condition to flare enough for him to avoid using the light in the refresher when he took a shower. Without the visor, at times, even the low-watt light in there was too much.

Turning back to face the market, Din closed the hull, and they set out on their way.

The field they walked through to reach the market was tricky for him to navigate. Soft and abundantly covered, Din had to take it a little slow. Concentrating on his footing over the mildly uneven terrain, he focused on the feel of each step before shifting his weight to take another. His knee went soft on him as his foot found a partial dip concealed in the tall blades. 

Shooting out a hand, Din grabbed the back of Paz’s sleeve to keep from going down. The blue helm dipped toward him as he stopped, and then Paz was shifting the child to his other side as he took Din by the back of his belt. Unlike a week ago, Din didn’t have the urge to complain about it. There was hardly anyone passing by them to see, and he had already resigned himself to the fact that he’d need a little support today.

He just hadn’t counted on needing it within the first five minutes.

Din started forward again, and Paz let him set the pace as he maintained his supportive hold, “A couple of more steps, and it levels out into a dirt path.”

Taking those two steps, Din felt relief as he set foot on firm ground again. He released Paz’s shirt. After giving him a cursory glance, Paz did the same. It was funny, the things you could read in a person’s posture when you couldn’t see their face. Giving Paz a nod, Din answered the silent question, “I’m good.”

Paz adjusted the ruck strap over his shoulder as they entered the market where aisles spread out in vertical rows before them. Canvas awnings and tents of muted colors caught the breeze, flapping against the tie-downs, staked deep into the ground. Tables and booths containing almost anything you could be looking for sat beneath canopies that stretched toward the horizon. Fruits and vegetables. Loaves of bread, dried meats, and canned goods. Jewelry, weapons, clothes, and toys... 

Looking around, Din tried to remember the last time he’d made a proper shopping trip. He couldn’t place it. Was it before Nevarro, during the time lost to him from the head injury?

The child cooed at something and Paz bounced him in his arm as they walked. Din looked at his son, wondering exactly how they’d made it this far without help. True, Cara and Greef had loaded him down with provisions pretty heavily after Lant had released him from the med center that first time. Canned goods, powdered milk, and pretty much anything else they could think of practically spilled out of every possible storage area he could stuff them in. He hadn’t _needed_ to make a shopping trip then, thanks to their kindness. 

There were other things to consider, though. Like, when was the last time the kid had a new outfit? Looking at the robe he wore, Din had often thought of how it seemed to have been made from someone’s old flight jacket, and he’d planned on stopping somewhere to pick up his kid some new clothes. That had been one of the reasons they had landed on Jakku last week. A short bit of restocking and refueling before making the jump to another star system. He got the fuel but never made it to the market.

They started to pass a table with children’s clothes, and Din diverged to it. Paz stood beside him while he sorted through some of the tunics, leggings, robes, and other items for sale.

His _ad’s_ hand reached over his transport’s arm and grabbed the corner of Din's pauldron. He was tugging on it as Din picked up a cream-colored tunic. Turning to the child, he held it up against his front.

Apparently, Paz was paying attention, because then his deep voice was commenting, “I’d go a size larger.”

“Yeah,” Din agreed. “Seemed like a bit too good of a fit.”

Looking over the crowd, Paz added, “Looked like he'd outgrow it in about five minutes.”

Din smirked behind his visor as he nodded and started grabbing pieces. Bringing his catch to the vendor, he was quoted a fair price and handed over the credits. When the woman taking his payment grinned past him making googly eyes, Din guessed the baby was behind him doing the adorable thing again. 

Laughing, she handed Din his change while picking up one of the suckers by the register. “May he?”

“Sure.” Din accepted the gift, “Thank you.”

Walking back to Paz and his kid, Din unwrapped the child's treat. Eyes growing two times larger than usual, the babe lunged over the side of Paz’s arm, making grabby hands for it.

“Ah,” warned Din, pulling it back out of reach. His _ad_ stopped, blinked at him, then tried again by making a more polite reach for it, and Din handed it over.

Watching the babe pop the sucker into his mouth, Paz commented, “That was kind of her.”

Din stuffed the clothes into the sack Paz carried, “Happens all the time. Just watch. By the time we get out of here, he’ll have acquired a decent plunder of gifts.”

“Is that so?” asked Paz as he gravitated toward a table across the way.

One hand on the long wooden handle of the sucker, his son reached out with his other for him. Din took his little hand in his fingers, telling Paz, “He knows how to work those eyes to get what he wants.”

A rumbling chuckle sounded as the Mandalorian in blue picked up a jar of pickled meat. Setting it back down, he chose a different one with tiny atomic peppers floating in the brine, and Din’s mouth salivated. It had been quite a while since they had something he considered to be a luxury food.

When was the last time he had homemade pickled meats? How long since he remembered there were other things to life besides existing merely to hunt, provide, and protect?

He didn’t know, and he almost couldn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth when he told Paz to get two more. His request got a slight glance, then Paz was pulling another two jars from the collection. 

Moving down further, they came upon an older couple selling local kinds of honey and homemade jams. The elderly woman had greeted them, gave his kid his own personalized greeting, then told them to sample as many as they would like. 

By the third tiny spoonful Paz tipped into the baby’s mouth, Din urged him to go easy, reminding him of the sucker he was also munching on. Paz came back with, “Best to know which ones he likes before choosing one and expecting him to eat it.”

“Right, but I promise, he’ll eat anything that tastes sweet. Just pick one before you amp him up so high he’ll be bouncing off the ship’s walls.” Paz snickered, and Din grabbed his arm. “I’m dead serious—levitational bouncing. I won’t be able to keep up with him, so it’ll be on you to play catch.”

Disregarding the warning, Paz offered the babe a couple more. Din gave up by the sixth sample, declaring the kid was all Paz’s once the sugar high kicked in. The large Mando shrugged with indifference, and Din elaborated, “...especially afterward, while he’s crashing from it.”

Paz was reaching for another spoon and froze. He looked at him and, even though he couldn’t see it, Din cocked an eyebrow, daring him to give the kid that seventh taste test.

Hesitating for only a moment, Paz forewent the spoon and grabbed one jelly and two different kinds of honey. Standing beside him as the shopkeeper put them in a cloth sack, Din muttered, “Smart man.”

Playing alien-baby catch as he propelled himself off the hull of the ship? No big deal. Managing the cranky throws of a sugar-withdrawal meltdown? No one wants to deal with that.

Paying the woman, Paz set the bag in the sack beside the clothes and jars of pickled goods, and they moved on. 

Meandering through the crowd, Din kept an eye out for strategic places to sit if he needed a rest. Glancing down at his bracer, he estimated that they’d been off the _Crest_ for close to thirty minutes. His lower back was aching, but it wasn’t any worse than walking around the ship. Still, he knew to monitor it. If it started getting worse, then he’d say something and they would head back.

The walk from the market to the ship wasn’t far, and he wouldn’t have to feel bad about Paz making the trip with him just to return alone to finish the shopping. Acknowledging that, he absolutely did not think about how he felt over knowing he shouldn’t make that short trip by himself.

Grinding his teeth over the setback for what must have been the hundredth time in just a week, Din pushed the irritation from his mind as they swung by a booth selling herbs and spices. He was about to walk straight past, but Paz detoured, and Din followed.

Grabbing one of the woven baskets placed at the end of the long table, Paz started filling it. Watching, Din asked, "You know how to use those?"

Picking up something that looked suspiciously like the leaves off a tree they just passed, Paz added it to his selection, “Yes. You dry them, then you cook with them.”

“I thought you were going to use them to make a salve or something.”

Visor roaming closely over the assortment on the table, Paz asked, “Does anything you do ever include some form of cooking?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“I see I just slipped into the role by default.”

“I’m not complaining.”

Paz took time away from his leaves and twigs to look at him. “I’ll remember those words and use them against you at will.”

Moving quickly through the rest of the available choices, Paz made his purchase and stuffed the sack into the bag over his shoulder. They were starting on their way again when a few rowdy teenagers went shooting past. Shouldering their way through the crowd, one of them clipped Din’s side hard enough to throw him off balance. Stifling a hiss, he couldn’t catch himself before getting knocked against Paz’s brick wall of a frame.

Steadying him, Paz pressed the baby into his chest as his other hand lashed out. Din grabbed his kid as Paz snatched the teen by the back of his shirt collar and proceeded to lift him with one arm until they were eye-to-eye. The kid’s feet dangled in the air as Paz leaned in, his low timber rumbling a warning, "It's too crowded for fooling around, _ad._ Walk."

Hanging from the Mandalorian’s fist with all the backbone of a wet flight suit, the kid stuttered, “Y-Yes, sir.”

Paz set the kid back on the ground, then forgot about him as he turned to look him over. “You okay?”

Leaning against the table, Din nodded as he watched the teen give Paz a terrified look over his shoulder as he took off, calling for his friends to wait for him. He was still walking as Din lost sight of him in the crowd.

“You sure?”

Din turned back to Paz, “Yes. Jostled some, but I’m okay.”

Paz was reaching for the kid, and Din passed him over. He was pushing back to his feet when Paz’s large hand closed over the back of his arm. Din wasn’t sure if it was because he was moving just a little slower or because he still hadn’t pulled away from the stabilizing grip on his arm that had Paz asking, “Want to head back to the ship?”

Answering honestly, Din cocked his head, “I don’t know yet. Give me a couple of minutes.”

“All right.”

Din glanced his way, “Was there much more you planned on getting?

“A few more items. Mostly extra clothes and maybe some weapons. I quickly realized that I left Jakku with little more than the armor on my back.”

Din’s gait remained cautious as he replied, “I’ve got plenty of weapons, Paz.”

“I know.”

That seemed to be the end of the weapons discussion, and Din let it go. Every Mandalorian he knew had a particular taste when it came to the munitions they chose to strap to their body, Paz being no exception to the rule.

The breeze kicked up, blowing moist hot air around them. A low dust cloud hugged the ground as it rolled past canvas walls that swelled before deflating. Even with his visor toned down, Din still squinted against the low glare reflecting off the metal cookware on display up ahead. The slapdash way the vendor had his items setup reminded Din of something.

Glancing down at a little Twi’lek girl waving at his kid, he said, “There is a storage compartment...in the _Crest_. It’s nothing impressive, and you won’t be able to stand up in there fully, but we could clear it out and turn it into a room for you.” Paz’s visor tipped down toward him, and Din rushed to add, “If you wanted to. I mean, I don’t know how long you planned on staying. You don’t have to stay long… I don’t want you to feel like I expect you to stick around for the entire time it’s going to take me to recover.”

He was rambling. Din knew he was. He was feeling anxious all of a sudden. Why the hell was he nervous? Because he just realized when Paz declared he was tagging along with him and his _ad,_ he might not have intended to sign on for the long haul. It was like Din was getting used to the reprieve of having someone around to give him a hand, like he was starting to realize just how much he’d _needed_ that extra hand, and he was growing apprehensive that Paz would say he was tired of the babysitting, and the caretaking, because honestly, helping someone with his level of injury, Din knew—he fucking _knew_ —how much that involved sometimes. So, yeah, okay… fine. He’ll admit it. There was a part of him that was a bit restless, thinking that Paz might leave at any time, and that did nothing to halt the words still tumbling from his mouth. “...because it’s going to take a long time to come back from this.”

“I know.”

He looked up, “A long time.” 

“Din.”

“...months.”

Paz sighed. “Are you finished?

Din faced forward again. “Yes.” 

Paz was looking pointedly at him as they walked. Din could freaking feel the weight of the other guy’s visor as he said, “I thought we agreed I would be staying to see you through your recovery.” 

“I don’t think we ever officially made that clear.”

“Hm.” Paz looked forward again, “I suppose you’re right. Okay. Well, I’ll tell you now, I plan to hang around until you fully recover.”

Relief can be a funny thing. You’d think it’s presence would bring with it a sense of peace and good feelings… which it had for just then, but it also caused his throat to tighten to the point where he had to swallow a couple of times before he could force out the words, “That would be good.”

He got a small nod. “Now that’s settled. How are you; want to head back?”

“No, my head is a little worse than earlier, but I think I’m okay.” Din stopped by a table loaded down with an assortment of toys. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Changing the topic, he asked the baby what he thought about the sea of potential entertainment before him. Din knew the concern hiding behind the dark visor, but Paz respected his answer by keeping it to himself as he lowered the child so he could get a better look at what they offered.

Din picked up something that was a pretty accurate representation of the spanner in his tool bin. The kid loved to run around with that thing. As he hoped, the babe showed his immediate approval by squealing and waving around his arms. Lurching over the top of Paz’s bracer, he strained to reach for it, causing Din to chuckle out loud, “Okay. I hear you.”

“Guess that one’s a yes,” remarked Paz.

“Hopefully, now he’ll leave mine alone.”

Paz snorted, “Keep dreaming, _beroya.”_

“I know,” sighed Din as Paz was picking up a purple and pink stuffed frog. “Ooooo...” voiced the babe as he bounced up and down in his embrace.

Din tilted his head, “I don’t know... he’s already got six just like that.”

“Well, obviously, he’s trying to build a platoon and needs one more.”

“Obviously,” Din conceded, taking the frog Paz passed him.

“Here,” he was passed another. “A new recruit just joined the ranks.”

Smiling to himself, Din shook his head, taking the second frog and walked down to the woman to make the payment. He came away from the booth with the frogs and toy spanner, a small box of wax coloring sticks—and another sucker. 

The baby started for the candy, and Din told him, “Oh, no, _ad’ika_. One a day is more than enough _.”_ He promptly shoved the items into the sack on Paz’s shoulder and out of sight. Honestly, he was more concerned over getting the toys out of view more than he was the candy. 

It only took one time to go through handing the child a new toy only for him to lose it somewhere in the market as they walked around. No matter how thoroughly he had scoured the booths and grounds that day, the toy had remained lost to them. With the vendor already packed up and gone, he’d had an inconsolable toddler in his arms as he left the closed market and walked back to the _Crest_.

That hadn’t been a fun day, and he learned pretty quickly to save the treasures for the ship where they were needed the most as they traveled the stars for days at a time.

“Yes!”

Din snapped from the memory as Paz took a sharp left, making a beeline for a different booth. Din trailed after his enthusiasm, wondering what good things he found this time.

What the— _kriffing oats?_

Din felt his lip curl in disgust as he asked, “You eat that mush?”

“The whole grains are good for the baby.”

“You were much too happy over finding these to be thinking only of the baby.”

Loading down the arm with his kid, Paz grabbed two bags of the round, flat grains, a jar of dried fruit, and a bag of mixed nuts. By the time he finished, the baby’s claws were clutching one of the bags as his round eyes peered over the side of it at Din. “Eh?”

Paz pulled out his credits, saying, “If made correctly, yes. I like them.”

Pinching the bag burying his _ad,_ Din lifted it with two fingers, remarking, “I don’t think there is any sort of way to make those, that would qualify as _correctly.”_

Oats purchased, Paz shouldered the rucksack again, “I’ll make a batch; you’ll thank me.”

Warily eyeing the new bulge in the sack, Din mumbled, “Don’t bet on it.”

After the questionable oats acquisition, Paz pulled them over three tents down where a woman and a young boy were selling medical supplies. Without being provoked, Paz informed Din, “Couldn’t help but notice the abysmal state of your med kit, _vod.”_

Din’s visor turned to land on him, “Haven’t exactly been engaging in activities that might warrant it’s use, Paz.”

The Mandalorian in blue armor hummed in response. “Always be prepared, Din. Especially since you have a little one.”

Huffing in self-defense, Din spouted off, “I _have_ band-aids.” Paz slid him a glance, and Din elaborated, “They even have little tauntauns and mudhorns on and them.”

A hearty chuckle pressed from above him, “Well, that is something, I suppose.”

“Damn right it is,” muttered Din.

Regardless, Paz still stocked up on a few of the supplies that Din knew he really should always have on hand. Burn cream, gauze, tape, a few bacta patches—which Din secretly found hilarious considering Lant had sent him off with a fucking stockpile of IV infusions—and some mild pain relievers.

After paying, Paz turned away from the booth and approached where he leaned against a nearby tree. Holding up a box of X-Wing band-aids, he sounded perplexed, “She just waved at the kid and passed them to me.”

A grin spread over Din’s face as he shrugged, “I told you.”

Paz looked down at the babe.

The babe looked up at Paz.

Paz looked at Din. “100% I’m taking him by the weapons booths before we leave.”

Grin spreading, Din pushed off the tree and took the kid’s hand as he reached for him. Almost at the back of the market, a modest structure came into view. Even with the photon filter in his visor dialed up, the thought of getting out from under the hot sun made him realize how much his head was continuing to bother him.

It wasn’t much of a building, just some thrown-together walls with a canopy stretched over the top. However, it offered an indoor option for vendors with items easily degraded by the heat and sun. _Not too unlike me lately,_ Din mentally quipped.

Pointing it out, he told Paz, “Let’s go in there and see if there’s a place I can sit down for a little while.”

“You need to head back?”

“Actually, I think I need a break first.” Again, Paz’s body language revealed his concern, and Din assured, “It’s fine. I just need a break. I’ll rest for a bit, and you can go use my kid to scam as many weapons booths as you want.”

“I don’t _need_ to visit the weapons booths.”

Din gave in to the pressing weakness, grabbing the back of Paz’s sleeve again as a bout of dizziness made him sway just a little. “Well, I _need_ to sit for a little while. You might as well go and see what you can find.”

Blocked from the heat inside the structure, Din could already feel the dizziness begin to ease. His gaze found a bench, and Din pointed toward it. The way he held onto Paz’s arm, they probably looked like a couple in a relationship. Whatever, that was fine with him. With his sights locked on that bench along the far wall, the only thing he cared about right then was getting to it. Preferably, before the floor decided it was time for one of those tipping maneuvers it liked to do when the vertigo became a bitch.

Letting Paz help him down to the bench, Din offered, “Hey. Let me take the baby while you finish up.”

Paz looked at how the child lay draped backward over his forearm. Mouth agape, the kid was passed out. He looked at Din, “You sure?”

“I’m just going to be sitting here, so, yeah. Pass him over.”

“Okay.” Depositing the baby in Din’s arms, Paz said, “Weapons dealers don’t tend to be ones easily swayed by cuteness, anyway.”

Din snickered, “Clearly, you underestimate his abilities.”

“Even while asleep?”

“No. Then, you’re out of luck. It’s all in the eyes. _”_

A sound of amusement passed through the big guy’s vocoder as he stood. “Do you need anything before I go?”

Maneuvering the child to his shoulder, Din shook his head, “We’ll be fine.”

“All right... I’ll be quick.”

Paz didn’t move. 

Looking up at the guy, the corner of Din’s mouth quirked, and he waved Paz off, “I’ve got you on comms if something comes up. We’re fine, Vizla. Go.”

“Right. I’ll be quick.”

Din didn’t mention that he’d just said that. Instead, he gave Paz a nod and watched him turn and walk back into the sun.

Looking down at his _ad,_ Din adjusted his head just a little, making sure he was laying against the soft fabric of his cloak. The nap the kid indulged in looked like a fantastic idea, and Din leaned his helmet back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes.

Keeping an ear out, Din kept track of what was happening around them as he concentrated on relaxing. He’d been on his feet for quite a while. It was the longest he’s managed since the attack. There was a pull of tightness in his lower back that he was sure would get worse soon. It didn’t concern him too much. They’d be back on the _Crest,_ and then he could take Paz up on the offer to fly them off-world while he took some medicine and crashed for a few hours. It was his head that was making him a little unsure about what lay in store for him.

Getting out of the heat and humidity helped. However, gauging the way sounds were coming at him with a sharp, piercing edge, he was suspicious of an impending migraine. Reevaluating his condition, it could be possible that he had overdone it a little bit, or perhaps he hadn’t, and it had been getting knocked around earlier that had exacerbated the symptoms edging in on him.

Either way, whether he overdid it or had simply been a victim of the energy of youth, Din was still immensely glad that he had gone today. Even roasting under the bright sun, it felt great to get out and walk around.

 _“Beroya...”_ A hand landed on his shoulder, and Din tightened the hold on his kid as his eyes flew open. Paz was bent over in front of him. “Think you can head back now?”

Feeling sickened over the fact that he must have drifted a little as he held his kid, surrounded by strangers, and unprotected... Din refrained from asking Paz how long he’d been gone and pushed himself up straighter, nodding his response.

Paz started to take the child from him, and Din let him. If he was honest with himself, it’s probably where the baby should have been the whole time. Leaving the irritable thought there, Din gripped the bench’s armrest, using it for leverage, and started to stand. The weakness he’d felt coming on earlier made it more difficult than he had anticipated, stalling him out a little.

Far enough away from the room's primary traffic, and with Paz’s hulking frame blocking him from view, Din didn’t fight off the arm that wrapped around him, supporting him and helping him back to his feet.

Making sure he was steady, Paz let him go, muttering, “I knew we should have turned back a while ago.”

“Paz.” Din sighed, “This is just how things are right now. You can’t protect me from going through it.”

“I know.” His deep voice came back just a little heavy, and Din smacked him on the arm.

“Hey. One day at a time. Right?”

A deep sigh that could rival one of his own breezed from Paz’s helmet, “Yeah.” 

“All right, then.” Reclaiming his hold on the sleeve of Paz’s flak vest, Din inclined his helm toward the exit. Come on.”

It only took a few steps for Din to note the increased difficulty taking him to walk. It wasn’t enough to give him concern over making it back to the ship, but the feeling of electric zaps shooting from his back, down his legs, it hurt. Couple that with how it felt like someone had strapped fifty-pound weights to his boots, upgrading the modest grip he had on Paz became non-negotiable. Din had the thought that making it through that field between the market and his ship would be even less fun this time around.

Slipping his gloved hand between Paz’s arm and his side, Din closed his grasp around his bicep. Paz raised his forearm automatically, tensing it as Din slid his hand lower. Gripping between the guy’s elbow and bracer, Din used him for leverage as they continued toward the exit.

They were almost out of the structure, but then something caught his eye. He needed to get off his feet, yes, but while they were still here, he needed this one last stop even more. With a tug on Paz’s arm, he directed the heavy infantry soldier over toward a table displaying an array of herbed soaps and shampoos.

Din felt Paz’s gaze on him as he looked through the available products. The grip he had on the guy’s arm pulled as Paz reached out and picked up one of the scented soaps. Holding a bar of sage in one hand, a bar of lavender in the other, Paz brought both to his helm. He sniffed one, then the other. “I never pegged you for the type to go for this sort of thing.”

Glancing over, Din turned his focus back to the things he had set aside, “Working as the Tribe _beroya_ , I could spend weeks inside my armor. Keeping from smelling like a moldy Jawa became a must early on.” 

“...kriffing _despise_ Jawas.”

Paz’s growled response had Din grinning under the helm. “Agreed.” 

Din picked up a container of cedarwood deodorant, adding it to the pile—a rosemary one got tossed in from his peripheral. Then, the bar of lavender soap. Leaning against the table, Din let go of Paz as he started handing their pile of items to the guy by the credits box.

Din waited for a beat, “Anything else?” Hand braced against the tabletop, he one-handed caught the tin of shaving butter Paz tossed his way. Looking at the label, he pitched it back.

Holding the babe in one arm, Paz angled to the side as he snatched it from the air. Then he just looked at him.

Remembering something from their days in the Fighting Corps, Din offered, “The one with lavender oil is good for razor burn.” His smile remained hidden behind his visor as Paz lobbed him the one he recommended.

Adding it to the pile, Din pulled out his credits, telling the vendor, “I guess that’ll do it.”

* * *

Back on the _Crest_ , Paz stood in the refresher, rinsing the soap from his hands. Cupping the water, he leaned down and splashed a handful over his face, and then he did it again. It felt so damn good he leaned in for one last go. 

Coming up for air, Paz braced his hands on the corners of the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He silently watched the beads of water run down his face. Droplets skipping over the blonde whiskers trimmed close to his skin, his steel-blue eyes stared back at him as he thought.

Today made one week since he stumbled across Djarin and his kid. Finding him outnumbered and struggling to hold his own while sporting some pretty fucking serious injuries... Paz tried not to think about what might have happened if the gods hadn’t directed their paths to converge.

That’s what had happened—Paz was sure of it.

There was no other way to explain how he could be strolling out of that cantina on Jakku, pondering the events of recent and how Din was tied to them, only to find him five minutes later just in time to save his bacon.

At first, he’d thought stumbling upon Djarin had been some crazy happenstance. However, he’s never been much of a believer in the theory of coincidences. Paz had been through enough in his lifetime to form the opinion that the gods sometimes get bored. When they got bored, that was when the crazy shit tended to happen to him.

He could see them up there on their mighty thrones, entertained by how he chose to tackle the latest trial they hurtled his way. On top of that, he was confident that they were mischievous enough to place wagers on how it would all go down for him. That was how he had reasoned the odds of looking for work one moment and the next, traveling the stars with a broken-down Mandalorian and his magic baby.

However, his theory of the gods and their nefarious games began to wane after he had a chance to speak with Cara. The feeling grew stronger after a couple of serious conversations with the _beroya_. After filling in most of the blanks from the bits and pieces of information he’d acquired from one source or another, he had since come to a different conclusion entirely.

Paz was sure he had been led to Din to help carry some of his load while recovering. It was more than that, though. Paz wasn’t only here to help him mend his body. Din’s soul was also in need of some mending. 

Neglect any injury long enough, and it begins to fester. A festered soul can lead you astray, causing you to lose your perspective, and his brother’s had become about as lost as he’d ever seen. 

The Din Djarin he grew up with and knew so well before the Purge had always seemed to maintain a healthy balance between service and self-sacrifice. Being the Tribe’s _beroya_ for years, though, Din had continually put the Tribe's needs before his own. And, while that was honorable, it was also where things had begun to get a little mixed up in his head.

Din had essentially brainwashed himself into having one single purpose—to serve others.

Paz wasn’t sure when it had started, but sometime during the years Din had spent in near-isolation with only the stars to keep him company, he had lost sight of that balance. Now, the scales weren’t just perpetually tipped toward self-sacrifice, they’d become thoroughly bottomed-out. Buried so profoundly in the endless cycle of providing, Din's soul had become blind to any other way. He had become lost, wandering the darkness of an unlit path.

That’s where he came in, to find his brother in the darkness and guide him back to where service and self-sacrifice were in balance.

He was there to remind Din that there must be times where he put his own needs first, even if it was something as minuscule as spending a few credits on a jar of pickled meat with chesang peppers. 

He was there to help Din rediscover his self-worth. He was there to remind him that it was okay to lean on others when he needed to. It was okay to rely on family to pick up the slack when you couldn’t, and maybe most importantly, it was okay to take a fucking rest. 

How exactly was he going to accomplish getting Din to realize all that? Well, he didn't know yet. He’d figure it out, though. 

He was certain of it. 

On that final thought, Paz wiped a towel over his face and replaced his helm. Pushing open the refresher door, he stepped back out into the hull of the ship... and came to an immediate halt. 

Pointing an accusatory finger at the most stubborn man alive, Paz barked, “STOP!”

Sitting at the table, a second away from hefting that heavy-assed rucksack, Din froze. His visor landed on him, and the ruck’s strap fell from his grasp. Crossing his arms over his chest, Din pointed out, “I am allowed to lift stuff.”

“I guarantee you that ruck is heavier than your fifteen-pound limit,” Paz responded, dropping his arm as he walked over. “I should know. I’ve hauled it around for the last two hours.”

“Is that how long we were out there?”

Lifting the bag, Paz laid it on the table. “Give or take, yes.”

“Hm.” Rotating it to face him, Din loosened the ties and spread the top wide-open. “I was keeping track, and then I wasn’t.” 

“I’m sure other things became more pressing to you than the time. Like remaining vertical.” Paz looked down at the _beroya_ as he was systematically pulling items from the sack, sectioning them into neat groups. 

Scooping up jars, bags, and sacks of assorted foods, Paz walked it all to the cupboards, asking, “How’s the head?”

“Annoying.”

Putting things away, he closed the cabinet doors. “Worse?”

He got a lazy shrug, “Some.” Diving into the sack up to his shoulder, Din sounded like he winced as he asked, “Where is the migraine med-pack?” Pulling his arm back out, he had both stuffed frogs in his grip.

“Uhm...” Paz thought as he did a quick look around. _Where did he leave that one..._ Turning, he marched back to the galley, “How bad is it? Edging in, or are we talking a full-blown migraine is imminent?”

“Edging in.”

Pulling open the second drawer, he found what he was looking for. “Still in time to head it off?”

“Hopefully, yes.”

Tossing Din the meds, Paz dumped the rest of that morning’s brew into a cup and zapped it in the nanowave. Going back to the table, he watched Din place the frogs beside the babe sleeping in the floating pram beside him. 

Paz set down the cup of black liquid on the table in front of Din, “I’ll go up and get us off-world. You...” leveling his visor at Din, he jabbed a finger at the cup. “...drink that.”

Din peered into the cup, then looked back up at Paz, “Is that caff?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t drink caff.”

“You do today.”

“Paz...”

“Lant said the caffeine would work with the medicine to help fight off a migraine before it really set it.”

Din's helm tipped at that. “You called Lant?”

“Yes.” Paz turned for the ladder.

“When?”

“Earlier. He says, ‘hi.’”

“...okay.”

Grabbing onto a rung, he turned back. Din was looking into the cup again, and Paz told him, “Hold your nose if you have to, but you drain that cup, _beroya.”_

Din’s helmet angled as he looked at him. “I will if you’ll get out of here.”

Maintaining his silent stare for a second longer, Paz turned away and climbed to the upper deck. He was stepping off the top of the ladder as a raspy _“...blech!”_ carried upward from below. 

Good, Paz nodded to himself. He drank the caff. 

A side thought occurred to him that he could have at least sweetened the drink for Din, but then he shrugged it off. Sinking into the pilot’s seat, Paz was sure this would count as payback for something he couldn’t remember.

_Fin_


End file.
